The Woman in the Red Dress
by Alina
Summary: A Power Rangers RPM / Battlestar Galactica short: A certain ethereal figure hits Dillon over the head with a cluebat.


**The Woman in the Red Dress**

**Fandoms**: Power Rangers: RPM and Battlestar Galactica (2003).

**Category**: Crossover, General

**Rating**: PG for some adult themes. Nothing graphic or obvious.

**Summary**: A certain ethereal figure hits Dillon over the head with a cluebat.

**Disclaimer**: Power Rangers is copyright Disney. Battlestar Galactica (2003) was produced by R&D TV/USA Cable Entertainment. This is some unlikely and non-profit entertainment.

**Notes**: Feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for reading!

* * *

Dillon sometimes wondered why he'd chosen to stay and defend Corinth. It was brutal work: constantly dropping everything to go fight a small army of robots at a moment's notice was enough to drive him crazy. The injuries even he sustained weren't so great either.

Worst of all were the suspicious stares. Even though he was risking his life to defend the last of humanity, of Corinth's inhabitants treated him like a plague given his human/machine heritage.

Still, there were some perks. The Ranger suit. Unlimited supplies for his car. The unexpected camaraderie he was slowly developing with the rest of the team. Summer's smile. Saving lives.

Today he was doing the latter: The team had sent Tenaya 7 packing after another infiltration attempt. Now they were attending to the civilians that had been caught in the crossfire.

Taking his helmet off (he still felt a bit claustrophobic whenever he was wearing it), he approached an overturned car pinning several people to the ground, and after a moment's hesitation, carefully lifted it up by himself using his implant-enhanced strength. He could've waited for the others, but what was the point if he could do it himself? Dillon refused to be ashamed of his cybernetic implants.

By some sort of miracle, none of the victims were seriously injured. As he lowered the car to the ground a couple of feet away, three of the four people scrambled to their feet, wiping their torn and dirty clothes with grease-smudged hands.

"Is anyone hurt?" Dillon asked nonetheless. Their faces changed from ones of gratitude to horror, as if he were Venjix in the flesh.

"N-no, we're fine!" a man shouted. The trio ran off.

Ouch. No matter how he rationalized their reaction (they don't know me, it's nothing personal, I don't care, why should I care), it still hurt to be treated like a pariah. Dillon shook his head. "You're welcome," he said to no one in particular. He then turned his attention to the final victim, a woman in red. She hadn't made any indication that she was planning on standing up.

"Can I help you up, ma'am?" he asked as politely as he could, though he expected her to run away screaming like the others. To his surprise, she silently but graciously accepted his hand. As she rose to her feet, the sight of her literally took Dillon's breath away.

She was the most beautiful woman Dillon had ever seen in his life, at least as far as he could remember. Platinum blonde curls framed her face like an angelic halo. Her red dress looked like it was custom-made for her. It managed to be both classy and revealing, and it hugged her curves in all the right ways. She practically towered over him in her stiletto heels.

"Thank you," she said, smiling a smile that made Dillon's hair stand on end. It was both entrancing and wicked.

"No problem," he replied.

"Did your opponent get away?"

"Yeah, but she won't be so lucky next time. Don't worry."

"I wouldn't be so hasty if I were you," said Red Dress, "she's a part of things to come."

"What?" He was starting to notice other things about this woman, things that just didn't fit. She wasn't behaving like someone who'd just survived having a car fall on her head. She didn't even look like a car had fallen on top of her. Her dress was clean, her skin unmarred. Not a single strand of her hair appeared out of place.

Red Dress smiled again. "All of this has happened before."

"You're crazy." The lady was insane. She must have snuck up on him as he'd been moving the car. She just wanted attention. It was the only possible explanation. Dillon turned to leave, satisfied that she wasn't injured, but was stopped short by her surprisingly powerful grip. He glared at her in protest. She didn't seem to care, and in one fluid motion pressed herself against him in a way he couldn't ignore.

She ignored his sudden tenseness. "Venjix, Power Rangers, the destruction of the planet...all of this has happened before. And it's happening again."

There was no reason to believe her, no reason to think that she was anything but a crazed, possibly shell-shocked, blonde bombshell-of-a-woman. But when Dillon looked in her eyes, he knew that none of that was possible. She was serious. She was telling what she believed to be the truth.

And then it hit him, what was so very wrong about this woman. She was at once extremely inhuman and _too_ human. She was pretending. Another android?

Or another hybrid? His heart leaped at the slim possibility.

He had to know. "Who are you?"

"A messenger."

"From who?"

"Dillon!"

Summer's call broke his eye contact with Red Dress. He saw his teammate approach him, her honey-coloured hair swishing back and forth with each stride.

Red Dress caressed his cheek with a ghostly touch while her other hand ventured down his side. He could feel her hot breath close to his ear as she whispered to him.

"You should look into the first Venjix." Her lips were grazing his ear.

Dillon swallowed thickly. Red Dress was having a powerful effect on him -- in every way possible. What would Summer think? Summer must be shocked, seeing him in such an intimate situation with a stranger. She didn't look upset yet, but it was impossible that she would have any other reaction. He felt a pang of hurt. The last thing he wanted was to lose the respect of someone who'd accepted him with open arms and no questions.

"Why are you doing this?" he managed to say. His voice was almost beyond his own reach, past the combined fury, lost hope, and unwanted desire that Red Dress was generating in him.

"So that you'll remember what I've said." All the amused playfulness in her voice was gone. He felt her press her soft lips to his temple. "And so that you'll accept who you are, and simply be."

Summer gently grasped his shoulder. She looked worried. "Dillon? Are you all right?"

Dillon practically staggered in surprise at her gesture and batted away Red Dress with both hands. "I--"

His arms hit nothing but the air. Red Dress was gone.

Summer reached up and put a hand to his forehead. "Are you sure? You've been standing here all by yourself for a while. It almost looked like you were talking to yourself."

Dillon didn't answer at first. He wheeled around in every direction in search of Red Dress, or a place where she might conceivably disappear to in seconds. "You didn't see her?"

Summer frowned. "See who?"

"The woman. The woman in red!"

"No. What are you talking about?"

"I--" He didn't know what to say, or what to think. Did he hallucinate? Were hallucinations always that real? Was his subconscious trying to tell him something? If so, there was one way to find out.

"Summer, was there ever an earlier iteration of Venjix? Before this one?"

Dillon would always wonder who – or what – he saw that day. He never found out.

But he was always happy that he'd listened to her advice.


End file.
